These Ghosts Have Bones
There is one Anarchist infoshop in all of Tokyo. It is run by one of the most generous men I met in Japan when I lived there a few years back. His name was Keisuke Narita and the place was called Irregular Rhythm Asylum. The tea he served (always green with ice) was fresh and everything in the store he occupied and owned was hand picked by him. Sitting on the futon in that shop is where I first heard Ghost Mice, it was also the first time I heard of CrimeThInc too. There were a lot of firsts in those days, no, I should clarify and say that there were a lot of firsts for me in those times, and it seemed as though that sort of thing was common in Kei’s shop. In Marxist literature, the eureka moment, the experience of the essential “first,” is called awakening into class consciousness, it can be a profound conversion experience, think of Paul on the side of the road or the first time you wished someone would die and meant it. Some people’s awakening dissipates like exhaled smoke but for others it can last a lifetime. For Kei it had lasted at least until I met him and from what I hear he is going stronger than ever. (It is especially hard to imagine what it is like to be the only Anarchist in Tokyo). I will say this though, Kei was a very busy man and he had that look many of the kids in cram school had; he was dedicated, determined, but most of all, under a lot of strain. The only difference was that Kei could laugh more deeply for he knew what he was doing was satisfying and above all right, plus he had a lot of friends to drink with.
Kei had a large bed-sheet with the words “Down with Alarm Clocks” on his wall, it was funny and that made it seem a little out of place there. Now I get it. It is that awakening into class consciousness is done without an alarm, it comes as the end of a evil, hopeless dream; it is silent and peaceful, it feels natural, reassuring. And like awakening from a dream, it changes a lot of things. On Kei’s suggestion I read Days of War and Nights of Love and Bookchin, soon after that I had Ghost Mice on the stereo at work and I began doing graffiti in Kabukicho, painting and making zines. Kei saved my life. Anarchism saved my life.
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A few years have past since then. Yet, things are steadily progressing.
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Harvard Seminary is a long distance from that Kei’s shop in Shinjuku, but in some regards they are the same place for me. What I found at Kei’s shop is here too. It stays with you. Whatever it is is also, for the time being at 45 Mt Auburn St in Harvard SQ. That is where the Papercut Zine Library is. That is also where Ghost Mice played alongside Kill Conrad, Heathers and Bread and Roses, who, as it were, were playing there last show. Heathers, a female duo from Dublin, were touring with Ghost Mice and even played a few songs with them. They were the first band I have heard in a long time that had beautiful voices. I was with one of the Librarians at Papercut (who, like Kei, deserves all the love in the world for what they do) when she bought one of their albums. I take that to be the highest endorsement one could hope to receive. Ghost Mice were everything I thought they would be live. Simply put they sang with a rare passion, a devotion to what was being sang in the lyrics, a dedication to what was going on then and there, to all the punks, dopes, posers, anarchists, femms and crusties there. They were hopeful.
Upon interviewing the lead singer of Ghost Mice one thing was apparent, he looked exhausted. Not merely post-show fatigue, no, it was an existential weariness tinged with a seemingly indestructible vitality that colored our interaction. For amidst exchanging anecdotes about squats in Amsterdam, Fantasy literature and the horrors of gentrification I sensed the same vivid appreciation, a sort of hunger, for living intentionally I recognized in Kei. So like Kei, his love was a joyful affliction. I left the Ghost Mice’s Witches and Warlocks record and I will play it for all my friends and loved ones. I have already listened to it three times in a row tonight. Thank you Ghost Mice, thank you for everything.
PS that picture is not of me, but it is the actual couch I sat on in IRA.
